


In Another Life

by LucyPiper



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Anime, Drama, F/M, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Manga, Religion, Romance, Short One Shot, vinland saga - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyPiper/pseuds/LucyPiper
Summary: Thorfinn encounters a faithful servant of the goddess, Freya, while traveling the mountains of Norway with Askeladd's men. What makes her so different? She is said to be able to see and speak with the dead.Thorfinn x Priestess!Reader
Relationships: Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

You could sense them long before their arrival. 

What used to be tolerable murmuring became whimpers, eventually transforming into mewls of warning as the spirits grew more and more restless. Their cries reverberated periodically within the temple with each passing moment. They alerted you of a formidable source of energy, one that screamed of bloodshed and evil, approaching your village in record speed.

A great breath whistled past your lips and your fingers twitched as a splotch of ink from your pen bled through the piece of parchment laid before you. The scroll listing today’s prayers was practically illegible in a matter of seconds. 

Your eyebrow twitched.

There was a list of things anticipating your attention, and it was clear these visitors would only serve to complicate this list. The daily rites had yet to be performed. The dead were still awaiting your morning invocations and it was already noon. The shrine was a complete mess and your stock of embalming candles had just run dry.

You rose from your place with your lips twisted into a grumpy scowl. You supposed it was only natural.

You were greeted by both the living and dead as you exited the shrine, their heads turned skyward to face the thickening pressure of the air. Attributing to the terrifying strength of your visitors, ripples of smoke scorched the atmosphere with a speed unknown to many. It told you of their capability to level your mountain home, to destroy your village with the heat of the sun, itself. There was no end in sight to the unnerving amount of energy approaching the base of the hill.

“High Priestess!” Agnes stumbled forward to grab hold of your robes, her own billowing wildly behind her. “The village—.”

“I know,” you said softly, your arm lifting to guide her back to the temple. “Take everyone inside and hide the children in the cellar. I will face them.”

As if your words came from the gods themselves, Agnes’ brow smoothed and her wide eyes relieved themselves of their fear. She immediately obeyed your commands. A short nod and the young follower started to rally for support from the other shrine maidens, beacons clad in beige robes, easily recognizable for the visitors of the temple. 

Despite having only joined your faction in recent weeks. She had the potential to become a great priestess. Maybe even head priestess one day—as your successor—when you joined the dead ones in the eternal afterlife. Until then, it was still your duty and yours alone to protect this temple and the people seeking guidance from any disturbance.

Undeterred, you started to climb down the stairs of the temple. The people of Kristianstand streamed past you, nodding when they met your eyes. The living around you parted like water submitting to Odin, meanwhile the dead ones flocked around you as soon as you reached the foot of the stairs that were made out of jagged, gray rocks, directly made from the surrounding mountains.

The small mountain village built around your temple was usually pretty calm, save for the constant whispering of the dead only you could hear anyway. Only a few families lived up here, surrounded by rocks and snow and the small stables for durable mountain goats and cows with the thickest fur possible to withstand the harsh weather. A small village, barely more than fifty people.

The graves surrounding the entire mountain outweighed the living population by a few hundreds. Some of them were decades old, the engraved letters in ancient long-dead languages already withered away by the constant onslaught of the elements. The newer ones seemed as fresh as the snow falling around you, where every step crunched ever so as weakly as you made it. A sharp gust of wind whipped around your head, tousling your hair, but you didn’t care about that nor the snow falling onto your shoulders.

Even the countless spirits around you were silent now. Like they also felt the rising tension in the air; like they knew what was about to come; like they knew what was about to happen. Maybe, they were also silenced by the smoke of torches flaring through the nearby forest—a large band of men, you figured. Even you felt the slightest bit of anxiety as another flare hit the surrounding trees and rustled their leaves.

Exactly at the invisible threshold of your village, you stopped. Behind you laid the village, the graves littered around in the snow like teeth and a few scarce houses scattered here and there. Ahead, the forest waited, the snow-covered trees shaking in the sharp winds or even in the more rhythmic flares of cheering men deeper in the woods.

You only had to wait for a few minutes for a sign of the new visitors. Even the ghosts’ whispering acted up again, hisses and ethereal voices ringing in your ears and mixing with the howling of the wind.

 _He’s close,_ they whispered, _he’s close._

_He hates us. He hates the world._

_He’s strong. He can kill you with the crook of his fingers._

_He wants to enter. He wants to search. He wants in._

_Join us. Join us today. Let it happen._

“It’s not going to happen anytime soon,” you whispered, your words ripped away by the wind.

A few more minutes of standing around in the cold, your hands hidden away in the wide sleeves of your robes and snow soaking your clothes and finally, a dangerous stranger showed himself. One moment, he wasn’t there, but one blink of an eye later, he stood between the trees and stared at you with unbridled anger. Like a ghost himself.

 _A viking_ , they whispered around you, _a soldier, son of Thors._

_Thorfinn._

“Stop right there.” Your voice carried easily over the elements. “What are your intentions?”

The stranger—Thorfinn—stepped fully into the light. He also seemed unbothered by the bleary whiteness blanketing the area, and like everyone else, he didn’t seem to be aware of the myriad of ghosts surrounding him, curious yet wary as they floated around him in wide curves, and backing off as soon as he got too close. 

His entire appearance reeked of “deadly warrior” and “lone wanderer”. His blond hair was unruly, a honeyed color like buttermilk and moonlight woven together. Intense dark eyes reminded you of an old barn door, flecks of deep brown married with lighter hues, so much strength remaining despite the years of weathering, so much life. And his clothes were worn-out, but of good quality; good enough to move comfortably and engage in battle, despite all the dirt and dust of a long travel and climb sticking to them.

Your eyes captured the dagger he held secured to the front of his waist, but he seemed unbothered by your studies. He continued to stare you down, his hatred barely masked behind the mild curiosity for the insect which stood in his way. His hand gripped the handle of his blade, the other hand slipping to rest behind his back—possibly another dagger? He could probably use those daggers to kill you in ten different ways—and that's before you could even realize them.

“My intentions?” Even his voice made the ghosts around you shudder. Heavy and light at the same time, waiting and praying for you to say one wrong word. One wrong word and he would pounce on you to devour you in an instant. “My intentions are none of your concern.”

“They are, if you intend to enter this village.”

“There’s a village up here?”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know.”

His head moved ever so slightly, falling to the right side and his eyes squinting as he assessed you once more. “You don’t know me and yet you speak like you do.”

In a silent challenge, you raised your chin. “I know more things than you realize.”

“For example?”

“I don’t have to prove myself or anything to you.”

“And yet, I’m supposed to name you my intentions without giving a valid reason to do so?” Thorfinn shook his head. “Under these circumstances, I can’t help but to wonder.”

Like a fool, you took a step forward, closer to the wards. “Wonder? A raider scouting ahead for his fellow plunderers?” Indeed, you had seen the smoke of his comrades long coming and could hear their breathing even now. “I can’t imagine.”

A grave mistake. One moment, Thorfinn was a few steps away, yet in the blink of an eye, he had crossed the distance, growling, spitting and hissing like a mad dog right into your face, his nose a few centimeters away from yours. “You can’t imagine? And yet, I can’t imagine how a little priestess of an unimportant mountain shrine who utters meaningless words to some long dead entity knows those things without spying on me with skill you certainly don’t possess,” he said before sighing out, “Either way, it shouldn’t matter. A job is a job, and I need in.”

He drew his blades. You twitched backward, heart jumping into your throat, but the ghosts remained unfazed. Rather, like an avalanche, they piled together. Their ethereal hands closed around Thorfinn’s nearest wrist, their combined powers of a few mere ghosts far greater than the physical, earthly strength of one mere human—no matter how strong and cunning he was. Restrained by invisible hands, the young man looked like the murderous rage burning inside his heart wouldn’t be satisfied by simply killing you. He didn’t even react when the ice-cold touch of the dead left bluish marks, all centered around his wrists and freezing the skin to a dangerous level.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. His tawny eyes grew feral for a moment before settling into pure confusion and awe when he truly could not move forward.

Still with an accelerated heartbeat, you stumbled backwards, clutching the front lapels of your robes. Your voice was its usual calm as you answered the—albeit rhetorical—question. “First off,” you began, “I’m not doing anything. Second of all, there’s nothing to break through but the will of the dead and Freya. Name me your intentions, and I will judge if you are allowed to enter.”

But he wasn’t even listening. Thorfinn jerked his hands backwards, finally aware of the marks appearing on his skin and inspecting the place like he expected to find someone in the empty space. His eyes flickered dark when he recognized his job wouldn’t be so simple, but you didn’t fear him like others did. The ghosts and your goddess were protecting you; there was nothing to fear.

He didn’t understand, of course. Not many did. Thorfinn continued staring at you like you were utterly crazy, all the while the bluish bruises at his wrists started to recede. The ghosts also had calmed down enough for you to listen to him without having to tune out the noise of a hundred ethereal whispers.

“I’m not asking a third time,” you stated. “Either tell me or leave the village. You cannot enter without my permission, nor will you and your men be given any supplies.”

His scowl made him look like a cornered wolf. That expression told you more than any of his denials could; they were indeed low on supplies, desperate, but still too proud to give in to your demands. Surely they had come to raid the mountain village, but in order to do so, your head was a prerequisite. His eyebrows were drawn together, wrinkled up and all sharp lines while he mustered you from head to toe. Surely reassessing you, maybe promoting you from “insignificant insect” to “slightly troublesome interference”.

Either way, he wouldn’t gain entrance to your village. One last time, you raised your head, allowed the snow to fall off of your shoulders and allowed Thorfinn to see one glimpse of your power. “Thorfinn, son of Thors, you are a stranger, openly hostile and tried to attack me. I don’t need to provide a reason to get to know your intentions; you yourself are enough of a reason. Either give your intentions, or turn around and never come back. Your choice.”

He didn’t even think about his decision. Scoffing, he plumped his bottom lip and rejected your offer. “I’m not one to bow before a priestess. There is no choice for me here, just another job to bring me closer to my goal.”

“Fine.” The ghosts were angry, making their rage known at Thorfinn’s imprudent words in the way they closed the space around you. Their translucent fingers brushed over your skin like wet paper tearing at a mere touch. It was hard to breathe, hard to continue without letting him know how difficult it was to be the only one alive among a sea of dead. “Then let me tell you three facts you cannot argue. Your ambitions are not important to the dead. All your efforts will be naught in the eyes of the gods. Nothing you say or do will matter in the afterlife, and believe me on one thing…” You met his dangerous eyes, faced the cruel ochre head on. “The afterlife isn’t a place to be conquered. Pass this on to your leader.”

A cruel frown flickered over Thorfinn’s face, joyless but with a spark of something inside his eyes which made you straighten your back a bit more. “It’s obvious I’m at a disadvantage, with you seemingly knowing a lot you shouldn’t know and me knowing next to nothing. We will see each other again, priestess. Don’t mistake my retreat for weakness.”

“No. I take it as a sign of borderline insane stupidity.”

The words were out faster than you could think. Your eyes widened when you realized that your usually silent thoughts escaped the security of your head, brash and rude and not at all like a priestess.

For once, he dared to reveal his smirk—just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of the eyes and a tilting of the head. It was so subtle, it was even more infuriating for you who caught a glimpse of it after making a foolish mistake. “Who would’ve thought? The icy cold priestess has an attitude. Already one thing learned about this place.”

And with these unsettling words, he simply vanished. Vanished in a swirl of leaves and wind, disturbing the flow once more to the point you could feel it in the root of your teeth. This wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all. Worry tugged at your heart, but you decided to push these thoughts aside for now. 

The danger for the church was gone, that was everything that counted, but his promise to return haunted your mind when the day ended and you laid in your bed of furs, eyes wide open and ears straining to catch any sound even remotely indicating the breach of the village's threshold by the stranger who disturbed the ghosts.

* * *

You really thought you had seen the last of him. You hoped, wished, even caught yourself praying to Freya that Thorfinn would never find the small path up to the small mountain village again, but for the first time in your life, your goddess left you on your own.

Barely a week after the first fateful meeting, the ghosts stirred once more. They were more unruly, bumped into you and some even flew straight through your flesh to show how distressed they were. Not a good feeling. When the dead touched the living in any way, it always felt like a little bit of their state was left behind. Their death clung to you like obnoxious poison, causing it harder to breathe and slowing your heart to the point where you struggled to keep your eyes open.

You had woken up to a ghostly woman whispering silent warnings into your ear.

_He is coming. He knows. He knows nearly everything._

Suffice to say, the start in the day certainly could’ve been better. However, when Thorfinn’s presence once more disturbed the air, the day reached a new, all-time low. You were in the middle of fulfilling the important task of listening to the woes of people visiting the mountain shrine when the first wave hit. Unlike before, the wave of raw energy wasn’t lashing out. No, they were more precise, had a purpose and intent, were directed at something—someone.

You. Thorfinn called for you, in the most arrogant, ignorant way possible. And he came alone this time. 

With a final prayer, you turned away from the grieving couple who hoped to find consolation in the silence and solitude here from the gruesome death of their son, and left them behind. At least, you didn’t have to push anyone seeking for your guidance away. There were only a few people willing to take the hike to this Norse temple, after all.

The sun was shining through a few clouds when you stepped outside of the church walls. The snow had partially melted over the week as spring brought its small rays of warmth onto the mountain, but you knew from experience the snow would never melt completely. The snow and mountain would still be here when all of the humans and their next generations living on them were dead and their bones had turned to dust. A reassuring thought, really.

Not that someone like Thorfinn would ever understand that. He was a man of only a few thoughts: destroy, grow stronger, destroy more—that two of the three thoughts were nearly the same was definitely not a coincidence.

When you neared the edge of the village, you could already hear him pacing through the snow. Every step was accompanied by a light crunch. Not even a skilled warrior could hide himself from the impact of nature. Another reassuring thought.

“I see,” you came to a stop a meter before the invisible line and crossed your arms over your chest, “you decided to make the futile climb up here once more.”

Thorfinn stopped his restless pacing long enough to give you a disgruntled glare. “I decide if it’s a futile trip or not.”

“Then, let me make that decision for you. Because nothing you will say or do will change my opinion to allow you to enter.”

“That is where you’re wrong.”

“Oh?” Mildly surprised, you cocked your head. “Enlighten me, please.”

“They’re searching for you.”

“Who?”

His scowl could’ve darkened the sun itself. “You know who. The Norwegian priests of your goddess were very interested in any kind of information regarding one of their priestesses who can see and converse with ghosts.”

Goosebumps appeared all over your arms. Quickly, you turned your head away and tried to appear unaffected by his words, though you didn’t think you were very successful. That he was willing to go that far only to get access to this mountain temple and its ground…

“I don’t know what you mean,” you answered casually, though his disrespectful snort said everything.

“As if you have no idea what I’m referring to. Don’t play dumber than you are, it doesn’t suit you at all.”

Oh, you knew what he was referring to, indeed. However, you had absolutely no interest in partaking in his leader’s schemes, nor in trying to decipher what Thorfinn thought he could gain from this.

“Just spit it out. They want me back at their main temple. That’s it, right?”

Thorfinn nodded. There was an edge of triumph on his face. Oh, he thought he had won, that he scared you into submission to his mysterious wishes, that he could order you around like a puppet and expect everything to happen to his liking. However, he forgot one tiny, almost insignificant detail.

In challenge, you raised your chin. “What do you intend to do now? Force me to come out? Because you think I’m scared of the priests miles away from here? Out of the ring of seals and ghosts no one can break? Is that your plan?”

Thorfinn pouted his lips to blow a short spurt of air, “Tch.” His eyebrows furrowed deep along his forehead and his eyes fell to his left as though he were trying his hardest to hold in whatever he wanted to say.

And that made you nervous and so incredibly angry at the same time. His mop of blond hair was rustled by a gust of wind, a few soft strands falling into his face, hiding and revealing the light-brown tint of his irises in a slow pattern. Unfortunately, he was still handsome. You couldn’t ignore it, not all of it, not completely. A shame all of that attractive outer appearance was almost covered by his ugly, nasty, disgusting personality traits.

“No,” he answered, “I just came to investigate further. A ring of seals and ghosts, you say? How interesting.”

That one was on you. You didn’t have to spill that particular detail, but here you were. Now you had to deal with the little mess you made by telling him this—not that Thorfinn could do much with that, but still. It was more than you wanted him to know.

You swallowed your anger and frustration. But gods, it was hard, so hard. “And? It’s not like you can break it.”

He shrugged. “Oh, yeah. I can’t. Though, I have to say, knowing you’re an orphan and was raised by the priests nearly makes up for it.”

“Many people are raised by the temple. I don’t see the significance of your information.”

“But I do. And that’s the only thing which matters.”

“Is that your new plan? To annoy with cryptid words and half-truths until I beg you to stop? Believe me,” you gestured to the invisible crowd around you, “I already have that on a daily base and you’re not even able to follow me into my bedroom. This plan of yours will fail.”

Something really interesting happened. First, Thorfinn’s little scowl he wore throughout the entire conversation froze. Then, he turned away like he wanted to vanish in the forest, though made no step toward the nearby tree line. He simply stood there, the rays of sunlight falling around him like the sun wanted to shine for him and only for him. Gods, this man had no idea what he was doing to you in this very moment and that was for the best.

“I didn’t come here to invade this land. Not today, at least.”

Both of your eyebrows rose. Indeed, you believed Thorfinn to have come here today to try again to convince you to allow him to come to the temple. There was no way on earth that would happen without you knowing what he planned to do here, because he seemed like the kind of man to always have a plan and purpose, that he was trying to warn you in some screwed twist of fate seemed impossible.

“If you indeed tried to warn me, you have a very strange sense in showing your worry.”

“I don’t worry about you, priestess. I’m worried what the priests will do with the information Askeladd gave them.”

Alarmed, your head flew up. “Askeladd?” So you were right in your assumptions. Askeladd was a well-known leader of a band of pillagers; even in Norway, his name rots on the tongues of many. It was safe for you to assume Thorfinn had come all those months ago to scout your barrier for entry, reporting his discoveries to Askeladd.

But now, he returned alone. His fellow vikings were nowhere to be found, the ghosts couldn’t sense their presence.

Why? Why was Thorfinn alone?

“The question I have to ask is: What did Askeladd tell them?”

And for the first time, Thorfinn indeed looked like he was able to do other things than destroy, grow stronger and destroy more. Yeah, for the first time, he looked like a real human being, with real ambitions. Though, the impression only lasted for a second, before Thorfinn wore his impassive expression once more, like a privilege bestowed upon him by his powerful father.

“Just everything I know, priestess. Beware of any future visitors. I’ll come back.” And with that, he was gone with the blink of an eye, moving so fast, it was like he vanished into thin air, just like the first encounter. However, you had the distinct feeling you were being watched as you scoffed at the surrounding trees before turning away.

* * *

Indeed, Thorfinn stayed true to his promise to return. It took him a few more weeks, but eventually he did. In fact, he chose the exact moment to show himself and flare his presence at the barrier when you were busy praying to the goddess of the shrine, and not just any, small prayer, oh no—it was the biannual prayer for fertility of the cattle, protection from harsh weather and blessings for the upcoming months. Spring was close and for such a small village this close to the clouds, the blossoming season was a great way to grow and recover from winter—and right in the middle of that important prayer, the ghosts had started to stir. You had tried to ignore it, tried to continue leading the prayers in a calm, steady voice and tone, but another flare of energy hit the church. Definitely mocking you. You grit your teeth and finished the long-winded sentence, only to step down from the altar.

“Excuse me. There’s an urgent issue I need to attend to. Agnes, please finish the prayers for me. A blessed day to all of you.”

Thankfully, none of the other priestesses wondered about your sudden leave. They also had felt the surge and commotion in the air, even when they couldn’t see nor hear the whispers and erratic movements of the ghosts around them. Only a few of the visitors from the nearby village—who were so steadfast and determined in their belief and need to worship your goddess—looked up from their folded hands, only to drop their heads just as fast again when you gave them an annoyed, icy glare. 

Quickly, you left the wide room, your robes billowing behind you in your righteous anger. This ritual was important for the small community up here and he dared to intrude and interrupt that! Fuming and unbothered to walk like a fairy gracing the earth, you stormed down the temple stairs. Ghosts still followed your every step, but had problems keeping up as you continued to run towards the border where Thorfinn waited, bunched up into a dense ball of energy.

There, he was already waiting for you at the border’s very edge in his usual hot-tempered, rebellious self; albeit a bit paler than you remembered him. Strangely enough, his form was covered in a peculiar cloak, its silhouette in the evening rays creating a strong form, as if the head itself was carried upon a pillar. He was now in the possession of a staff, though instead of wielding the staff, the long gnarly branch seemed to wield him.

He seemed… unsteady on his feet; staggering a bit back and forth, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip, and only now, you noticed the faint red spots in the snow behind him. A thin trail was drawn back into the forest, accompanied by the same footprints that led back to Thorfinn’s feet.

_He’s injured. He’s hurt._

_You don’t need to help him. He will get through it. He always does._

For once, you ignored the ghosts and their unceasing whispering. They were wrong, he was clearly severely injured! When someone like Thorfinn, whose presence disturbed the air and nature itself, was staggering around like a newborn fawn, something had to be disturbingly wrong.

“What happened?” You barked as soon as you were within reach. Without thinking, you stepped forward and touched one of his hands clamped around the gnarly wood. His skin felt feverish and was layered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. “What’s wrong?”

It was a testimony of his weakness that Thorfinn didn’t instantly react. Only after a few seconds of your fingers trying to pry themselves into his palm did he finally swat your hand away, growling lowly as he did so.

“Fuck off. I don’t need your worries.”

“You clearly do, you idiot! Look,” you gestured at his crimson-soaked side, “you’re still bleeding! Only the gods know how much blood you lost on the way up this forsa—the way too long path up this mountain!”

“You wanted to say forsaken? You wanted to—admit it.”

“There’s no time for this! You’re injured.”

Thorfinn’s face pinched into a grimace of momentary pain, just to act like that notion never happened in the first place. Again, he swatted your hand aside. However, the harsh movement caused him to sway on his feet once more, nearly stumbling into your arms, but he caught himself before he could make even a sliver of contact with you.

“I’m not injured,” he growled, “just a...minor setback from those damned priests.”

“Well, bleeding out on the threshold of my church is more than a minor setback to me.” Ignoring the agitated whispering of the ghosts was hard, but you pushed through their insistent ‘ _Don’t do it, he’s dangerous’_ claims. Your mind was set, despite there being no way of going back on your word, even if you wanted.

Even if your decision now turned out to be the wrong one.

After a few more seconds of struggling with your racing mind, you remembered the words you set a long time ago.

Still ignoring the ghosts around, you straightened your back, heavily aware of the cursed daggers of the injured person who needed help right by your side. No matter if you didn’t know what his intentions were or what his secret plans could be, you had to take that risk, regardless of the outcome. It was your duty as a priestess.

Once again, you took a deep breath in to clearly formulate the words you desperately searched for in a deep, strong voice projecting to the crowns of the trees around. “I allow Thorfinn, son of Thors, in my temple. He may come and go as he pleases and is henceforth under the protection of my hand.”

Nothing happened. Though, when you reached out once more and started to pull Thorfinn into the direction of the temple, nothing happened. No ghostly hands reaching for him, no barrier keeping him from entering the place. Just you, your fingers wrapped around his staff and his own hands clamped around the same gnarly wood, and the injured, stubborn, still dangerous and yet sympathy-awakening man stumbling after you.

Despite all his rough edges and his obvious interest in this place because of whatever tight-lipped reasons, you wanted to help him. Because, above all these things, Thorfinn seemed incredibly, insufferably lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 will be up soon! Let me know if there's anything I can change to make it better! Thanks for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

No matter what he had said before, Thorfinn was seriously injured, or at least, lost a lot of blood. Considering he climbed up the entire mountain that way, the trail of red extended for more than a mile long.

He slept for three whole days. Not the calm sleep of speedy recovery and peaceful nothingness, no. Fever wrecked through his body, making him toss and turn, and writhe and whimper like a wounded wolf. In his sleep, Thorfinn kept on thrashing around, fighting off enemies inside his head and the well-meaning hands of yours outside of it.

Beside the various bruises he accidentally gave to you, he was—for the first time—a bearable guest. Apart from the occasional mumble, whine or rare scream, Thorfinn was on his best behavior. Nevertheless, you didn’t dare let him out of your sight for a single second just in case he might wake up. You didn’t want to imagine the chaos and sheer terror washing over the temple if Thorfinn would wake up without someone holding him back if necessary.

No one else but you stood a single chance against him here, and even your chance was abysmal and laughably small in comparison to his strength.

Thus, you continued to do some of your chores as the head priestess while guarding and watching over the injured Thorfinn from the harm already done and the potential harm he could inflict.

It was in the middle of the third night when he finally awoke.

One moment, you strained your eyes to read the transcript of one of the oldest scrolls in this temple: apparently some prophecies from Freya herself, though you doubted that. The weak candlelight wasn’t nearly enough to illuminate the chicken scratch of the long-dead transcriber. Maybe you could somehow find the ghost of that guy and nag him for the trouble it's giving you.

But in the next moment, you found yourself slammed on your back, a strong forearm pressing all of the air out of your throat and a half-naked, fully angry warrior hovering above you, his teeth bared and ready to bite.

You didn’t even need to think. Ghostly hands ripped Thorfinn away in a few blinks, allowing you to quietly catch your breath and for him to calm down long enough to listen to logical reason, and not the hot-headed, guarded confusion inside his mind.

“Is that,” you breathed out through your still throbbing throat, “how you always treat your caretakers? Because if you do, remind me to never patch you up again.”

“What did you do to me?” His raspy voice was close to a dangerous growl. Dangerous for your integrity and the apex between your legs, that is. But you ignored it, ignored it like you always ignored every dangerous urge threatening your inner peace.

You raised a single eyebrow. “Are you deaf? I helped you. You fainted on the way up the stairs to the main temple so I had to drag you in here and patch you up. While you slept your fever off, I wiped off your sweat and tried to keep you calm and contained enough you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Or others,” you added like a forgotten afterthought. “I also would have prayed for you, but knowing you don’t appreciate “empty words”, it would’ve been a waste of words and air.”

His following roar reminded you even more of an angry wolf (or maybe an elk. Yes, definitely an elk). “Don’t play with me, priestess! What have you done to me? Why am I like this? Are you a witch? A goddamn witch?”

His insults didn’t hurt one bit. Hell and heavens, you already heard them all before. Nothing was new. They were merely uttered in fear of the unknown, however you didn’t expect Thorfinn to say these words with such disgust and hatred. Still, the hate would’ve burned you to the ground if you were a lesser person and not forged by death that had been with you since your birth.

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of,” you answered coolly, “and what you’re thinking about. I helped you, and even though I didn’t expect anything special from you, you somehow managed to disappoint me. Congratulations.”

For a second, it seemed like Thorfinn wanted to protest further. Though, his head jerked around at something you didn’t hear yet. Someone was walking down the corridor and moments later, you heard the steps of naked feet on the ice cold stones, and after a few more moments, a shy knock echoed through your small quarters.

You threw a warning glare at Thorfinn and gestured to him to lay down again. “Yes?”

“Head priestess…” Agnes’ voice sounded—oddly enough—worried. “Is everything alright?”

Your eyes were still leveled at Thorfinn, caught in a staring contest. He obviously didn’t trust the person on the outside, but you dared him to move a single muscle which he glared back just as intense but otherwise remained as still and silent as a corpse. “Yes, Agnes. Everything is fine. Our guest just woke up and I had a little… conversation with him.”

Tense silence. Then…

“Alright. Have a good night, head priestess. And… a good night to you too, Mr. Thorfinn.”

“Good night,” you answered. All the while, you were still staring at Thorfinn. You ignored the fluttering in your lower belly when you took in his entire physique—his entire impressive physique. He was smaller than the average male, despite being eighteen years of age, but his body was a weapon, trained and honed to kill, destroy and fight. Even though the purpose of his training was something you deeply detested, the result of it was rather…

Astonishing.

Of course, Thorfinn didn’t say anything. His eyes flitted over to the door as Agnes retreated. Both of you listened to the faint, retreating slapping of her feet until it was inaudible to your weak hearing and a few moments after, from his surroundings too.

“Well?” Again, you gestured towards the makeshift bed. “Will you sit down now or disturb the sleep of even more hard-working people?”

Thorfinn bit back a few—you suspected—hurtful words. Thankfully. You didn’t know if you could’ve taken anymore of his bullshit tonight. After what seemed like eternities, a slow grunt escaped him, only for him to drop back into the furs like dead wood. Even that little action had taken a toll on him, drained him from the little bit of energy three days of restless sleep and his confusion at the situation had given him.

He must’ve lost a lot more blood than you originally believed.

With a low sigh, you stood up. Again, his intense brown eyes flitted towards you; checked your intentions, your stance, your state of mind. Always, always cautious. Even more so as he was currently vulnerable.

“Don’t worry too much,” you answered the unspoken question in the room, “seeing that you now graciously decided to wake up, I will now take the freeing liberty to take a bath. I haven’t done so in three days.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Unwillingly, a little snort escaped you. “Oh, you did. By collapsing right in front of my feet. Now, close your eyes and go back to sleep. You need it.”

Before Thorfinn could discuss even further, you exited the room. You didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear any of his lies or half-truths. Just some blessed silence and some quiet, calm minutes for yourself. Preferably in the blessed water of the hot springs coming directly from the heart of this very mountain. Maybe, the bath would also give you enough peace to think things through: what Thorfinn actually wanted here, if it was a good decision to allow him entry to the temple, if you should have just left him right then and there. While you sunk into the steaming water, the waves splashing around you in the small, man-made cave especially built for the temple believers, you turned every word over and over in your head.

In the end, you didn’t come to a satisfactory conclusion. Only time would tell if it had been the right decision to allow Thorfinn to enter.

Of course, the ghosts continued to whisper while you soaked in the warm water, lesser than usual, like they were also scared off by the holy nature of the spring, but not so much they didn’t stop bothering you.

_ He’s dangerous. _

_ He’s searching. Searching for something. _

_ Others are coming. The ones who hurt him. The ones who want you. _

_ Watch out. Join us. Watch out. _

Not good. You sighed before submerging yourself in the water. Blessed silence. Only the murmur of water in your ears. No more voices, no more whispering, no more nightmares. Sometimes you wished it could be permanent. To finally live without seeing the crowds of ghosts everywhere, without hearing them at every moment of your life around you, whispering obscure warnings and cryptid threats. But that would never happen, not without you leaving this world permanently.

Hair wet and still slightly dripping, you wandered back into your own quarters. Overall, the bath didn’t take you longer than half an hour and yet, it seemed like Thorfinn had fallen asleep yet again. Probably for the better.

While circling his makeshift bed on your tiptoes, you watched him from the corner of your vision. In his sleep, Thorfinn appeared… even smaller than when he was awake. His entire being seemed to fill the air around him, fill every room and every breath someone else took in his proximity. Thorfinn really was larger than life when he was awake, but now…

He seemed so small. So hurt. So pained. His face was still pale enough to nearly mistake him for a ghost, and when you dared to peek underneath the blanket to check his bandages, you could clearly see the red seeping through the white fabric again. Three days hadn’t been nearly enough to allow the surprisingly deep wound to heal at least a little bit. The harsh movement earlier of jumping on top of you had ripped open the little bits of barely pulled together flesh. If Thorfinn didn’t stay down for some extended time, he would bleed out, right here in your sanctuary.

“I didn’t know,” warm breath ghosted over the side of your face, “that peeking at defenseless, sleeping men is allowed by the principles of the church.”

A gasp escaped you when you twitched backwards. The blanket fell and covered up the gruesome truth. Your head turned, and your eyes met Thorfinn’s darker ones.

“I was checking your wounds,” you explained, even though the blush on your face said something else, “I didn’t—!”

“You did.” His gravely, sleepy voice told of someone who wasn’t used to such forms of attention, but was conscious of its presence. “You did, and you still do. I can smell it on you.”

Like a hound on the hunt, he sniffed the air, and again—this time slowly moving up and closing the little bit of merciful distance you created between the two of you. He was too close. Goddess, you could also smell it. His scent, deeply personal and strong, so close in his personal space the tip of your nose nearly touched Thorfinn’s cheek. Something deep and musky, intoxicating in its own right, woven in between the smell of rusty blood and soap.

However, in one thing that he was right: it was wrong to want this. To want something you weren’t supposed nor destined to have. You belonged to your goddess, every inch of your dying body and every thread of your eternal soul. And someone like Thorfinn wasn’t part of the all-encompassing plan.

And yet, he was here, staring at you with his deep, intense eyes, and a little cheeky smile tugged at the corner of his mouth where his frown normally lay. Like he could read your thoughts, knew what you were thinking about and what you instinctively craved for with sudden, but wild curiosity.

How would it feel to be his? Just for one night, for a few hours? How would it feel to lie below him, to be filled and stretched out? How would it feel to sit in his lap, his lips caressing yours only to wander lower, to your neck and collarbones, to your breasts and stomach?

How would it feel?

Enough. Enough of this nonsense.

Deliberately slow, you pulled away. The little spark of knowing in his eyes vanished, just before Thorfinn turned his head on the pillow. Blond hair was pushed into his face as his grunt reached your ears, disgruntled and annoyed at your presence.

“Don’t do that again,” he hissed as you stood up on shaky feet, “or I will kill you.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to die?”

Thorfinn had no answer for that. And strangely enough, you also didn’t have one, even when you laid in bed a few hours after that conversation, turned his words and your reaction over and over in your head. A storm of wind, rain and hail raged outside, carrying you to sleep together with the whispering of the ghosts. Always there. Always present. Always wanting.

* * *

You awoke to the ghosts screeching in your ears. High, warning, hissing. With a jolt, you jumped out of your bed, the thin sleeping clothes sticking to your skin. What was going on? What was happening?

_ He is awake. _

_ He is angry. Frustrated. _

_ He is hurting. _

Indeed. From the study-now-converted into a temporary guest room echoed the sounds of rummaging, angry stomps and suppressed curses. Your guest was awake and didn’t have the decency to be silent or rest to allow the others around him to sleep.

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head. What an annoyance.

You had no delusion that he wouldn’t notice your entrance when you opened the door to your study, leaned against the doorframe and watched Thorfinn with crossed arms over your chest at how he continued to ruffle through the many manuscripts, valuable scrolls and transcripts. Unbothered and undisturbed, like it was well within his rights to go through your stuff.

Only when you cleared your throat did the half-naked man stop. With his sleep-ruffled hair and the deep shadows below his eyes—it seemed like his night’s sleep hadn’t been a good one, and you were secretly quite delighted to see these signs.

“After you chided me yesterday to not look at your private areas without consent, imagine how befuddled I am to see you now going through my private areas without my consent.”

Your remark was met with a disgruntled glare and Thorfinn finally stepping away from your desk. He mirrored you, his arms coming up to cross over his chest. In the motion, he revealed the now-a-bit-messy bandage. He probably tried to look at his own wound, maybe stitch it up himself, but only managed to yet again ruin the little bit of recovery which happened over night. Blood was tainting the white bandage loosely wrapped around his abdomen. He needed new ones, urgently. Maybe even some stitches, now that he was actually awake.

“Let me see your wound,” you said as you stepped forward, “you’re bleeding again.”

His snarl grew even more prominent. “No.”

“What, no? No, you don’t want me to see your wound or, no, you’re not bleeding out? Because I have to say, it looks like that. See? Blood all over the ground.”

Indeed. On the cold, grey stone, there were red stains and bloody footprints scattered all around the room. Goddess, he must’ve inspected his wound while running around and searching your study. Talk about efficiency.

Thorfinn merely shook his head again. “No.”

“Can you just be a little bit cooperative?” You threw your hands up. “Nothing is done by bleeding out on my floor, especially after I made the effort of patching you up. Now, get back to your bed and let me look at the wound!”

Your tone was certainly a bit out of line. Harsh, snippy, cold. However, it worked. Thorfinn seemed surprised, and listened after a few minutes of internal debating. Thankfully. There was no way you would’ve been able to force him to lie back down.

For a moment, you closed your eyes and suppressed a little sigh. This day would not be easy.

Thorfinn looked like he wanted to become one with the lumpy furs surrounding him as you sank onto your knees beside him with your fingers reaching out to tug at the bandages. Your nimble fingers made quick work of the loosely tied linen, but even though you added a little bit more pressure than necessary, he didn’t make a single sound.

Rather impressive, considering that the wound was slowly weeping blood. Most of it dried in the waistline of his pants, but there was still enough to drip onto the formerly spotless covers. A true mess.

“Lay down,” you ordered while pressing your flat, bloody hand against his abdomen. “It looks nasty. You need stitches.”

“I don’t.”

“Stop grumbling.”

“I am not grumbling.”

“Lay down and stop grumbling, then.” Without leaving room for more useless discussions, you moved out of your crouch to search through your belongings for some needle and thread that were steady enough to hold the wound together for longer. Also, after a few silent moments of contemplation, you grabbed a bottle of strong alcohol out of your secret stash.

While handing Thorfinn the bottle, you crouched again down by the bedside. “Drink some of that. I need to heat up the needle anyway, should give you enough time to get a nice buzz going and numb the pain.”

Thorfinn scowled at the bottle and the amber liquid inside. “I don’t need it. Do it.”

“Drink.” With a grumble, you leaned over a nearby candle to disinfect the needle. The small piece of metal quickly warmed up between your fingers, and when you looked back at the injured man, he hesitantly sipped at the bottle, even though he made grimaces every time the brown glass touched his lips.

“Lie down now,” you instructed when the tip of the needle glowed in the weak flame of the candle, “I can’t reach everything properly if you’re sitting up.”

To your surprise, Thorfinn actually complied without putting up much of a fight (by now, you didn’t count the one, two disgruntled glares you received by him as serious trouble). He sighed as he did so, stretching out his body in the stained bedsheets. It took a bit as he needed to adjust his mop of hair just to splay his chin over his palm. Quite amusing, to say the least.

Thorfinn noticed your amusement and instantly reacted like you expected him to.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled while fumbling still with his hair.

Your little snicker broke the tense silence. “Just your antics. Don’t mind me, I just believe it’s funny to see you wiggle and writhe.”

His glare would’ve silenced entire crowds of people, in fear of upsetting the warrior further. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you. I simply think it’s amusing to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like an actual human being, not a soulless pillager.”

That silenced him for good. Humming quietly to yourself, you scooted closer to the bedside. One palm was placed on his higher abdomen, the other steadied itself right beside the wound, ignoring the blood seeping into the hems of your nightgown.

A tiny bit of anxiety rose up in your chest, making your heart flutter, but you squashed the feeling quickly. Stitching Thorfinn back up would solve lots of problems in the long run, starting with the problem of him being here on holy ground despite not knowing his true intentions. The sooner he recovered, the sooner you could throw him out without feeling too guilty about it.

The needle in your hand was calm as you continued to pierce his skin over and over. Thorfinn didn’t make a single sound. Not even a single muscle twitched beneath your palm, even when you messed up the tiniest bit and new blood pooled on the furs. At the end of the entire procedure, you were certain you needed more than a few sips of a strong drink, while Thorfinn slowly sat up, his intense eyes set onto his own stomach.

“How strong is this drink?” he asked, eyes still on the blood-encrusted wound.

You knew what he wanted to do and moved out of your seat. Your knees hurt and you weren’t too keen to watch him further up to close. “Strong enough. Priestess Anne here made the drink for me and swears it’s one of the strongest she ever brewed.”

You threw a look over your shoulder just in time to watch how Thorfinn poured a bit of the fine alcohol directly over his wound. His neck curved backwards, exposing his Adam’s apple to the world, muscles stretching and contracting in his jaw. Only now, he hissed and cursed under his breath—barely loud enough to make out the vague intentions of these words, but nearly not loud enough to allow you to make out the single syllables.

Understandable.

Thorfinn needed some time for himself, you decided, and you left the room to clean yourself up, wash and dress yourself. The natural process of getting ready for the day even with the unusual visitor inhabiting your close quarters still managed to bring you back some much-needed peace, despite the ghosts whispering even more insistently into your ears.

_ He wants something. _

_ He is dangerous. _

_ Don’t let him stay. Something is coming. _

_ Let him stay. Join us. Join us today. _

“Not today,” you whispered as you tightened your robes once more, “and certainly not in the near future.”

_ Danger is coming. Danger brought by him. _

_ Beware. Watch out. _

_ Betrayal is waiting. _

A cold shudder wandered down your back. Betrayal. The ghosts never spoke before about betrayal or danger in this way. This insistent and loud and close, howling in your ears and echoing unheard by others inside the small bedroom. For a moment, you stood right there, unable to breathe, to think, to see further than your own nose. Betrayal.

By whom? Thorfinn?

No, it couldn’t be him. You didn’t even trust him to begin with, so there was not even room for any kind of betrayal. So, one of your sisters in this temple? No, definitely not. You would trust them all with your life, they all came willingly to join the temple under your reign, they all had to pass over the invisible border. Agnes was the last one to join, and she was already here for an entire year. None of them would ever betray you, you were certain.

What else? Who else could betray you? The priests from the main temple? No, they couldn’t. They weren’t allowed in here and would never be, with their greed, their lies and hurtful actions.

Were the ghosts really truthful, though? Technically, they could lie after all, even though you never experienced them doing so. Maybe it was their first time doing so? Or it was the start of some kind of underlying illness breaking free. For now, there was no option left but to push every doubt out of the way and out of your mind.

At the new rummaging coming from the study, you rolled your eyes. Maybe, you could also push and tie your unwanted guest back onto the bed so he would finally properly rest and heal.

Like you didn’t have anything better to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably go with four-five chapters on this. 
> 
> I've just finished reading the manga and I'm so in love with the historical context! I've got most of it written already, but let me know if there's anything you all would like to see! There's hardly any fanfics out there for Vinland Saga, so I figured I'd make a contribution.


	3. Chapter 3

Thorfinn, you soon found out, was just as unbearable as a guest as he had been as an unwanted visitor. No matter what you tried to engage him in, he would never answer. He ate the bare minimum, drank only when you weren’t looking at him, and as soon as you left the study for longer than a minute, he would start searching through some of the holiest texts without a care in the world for the damage he did to the frail paper and parchment. When you would return and see the obvious mess he created, maybe even a new blood trail smearing the stone ground with red stains, Thorfinn would merely smile smugly before closing his eyes and leaving you to clean up after him.

Soon enough you gave up the obviously futile attempt at being a good host and continued to work silently around the bed and the stewing, silent guest you had to bear.

The first sign there was more underneath his grumpy surface showed one night, nearly a week after you dragged him inside the temple and allowed him in. For once, Thorfinn was truly asleep and didn’t wake up when you entered after a long day of leading your church. You sighed out in barely restricted relief when you spotted him and noted the almost spotless interior and cleaned-up desk, just like you had left it this morning.

Even his plate you had sent up around midday was empty, the water canteen as well. With a low sigh, you bent down to pick up and refill the canteen, as Thorfinn was probably parched once he awoke. Looking closer, his skin also regained some color. Maybe you could finally throw him out in another week or so—Thorfinn would be strong enough to survive the climb down the mountain. He survived the walk up injured, surely he can survive the walk down uninjured?

Your fingers hovered over the blanket pulled up to his chest. Gods, you wanted to peek just for a second, just to see how the thread was doing and if the wound wasn’t infected or inflamed, but he would probably wake up from that and you really didn’t want a repeat from the last time you tried to do the exact same thing.

“I see you’re trying to peep on me again.”

Even though you twitched at the sudden, sleep-hazy voice, your  tone didn’t show that one bit as you turned your head to meet Thorfinn’s eyes. “I didn’t and you know that.”

“Then you were close to doing it.”

“I asked myself if it was worth the hassle of waking you up in comparison to the knowledge when I could throw you out again.”

“And?” He titled his head ever so slightly, blond strands cascading in a wave over his shoulder. The gesture would’ve been alluring if not for the waft of week-old sweat and old cheese reaching your nose. “Is it worth it?”

“Yes. Just for telling you that you need to wash up alone.” Grimacing, you leaned backwards. “Urgently. I’m amazed it’s not worse than this.”

He looked deadly offended, to say the least. Good. Thorfinn needed the wake-up call and to wash himself. There was no way you would tolerate this kind of smell to remain in your study, possibly even clinging to the books and scrolls Thorfinn touched on his daily search throughout the shelves.

“I washed myself,” he said with all the indignity one could muster while lying down and reeking like something which died a good few weeks ago and had been left out in the summer sun to rot.

“With what?” Before he could answer, you already knew what he was about to say. You pointed at the water canteen, nearly trembling in sheer frustration at the absolute idiocy of the stubborn mule right in front of you. “Seriously? Seriously? You used your drinking water to try and wash yourself? Why can’t you just ask like a normal human being?”

“Why would I ask for anything?” Thorfinn growled.

You threw your hands into the air. “Because you need help! Obviously! What does it look like? It’s in the very description of my role as a priestess!”

Before Thorfinn could protest further, you stormed out of the room. Outside, Agnes was waiting, her sleeves tied up and ready to help. How she had known, you didn’t want to know, but you were thankful for her presence nevertheless.

“I know it’s late,” you hastily whispered to her, “but would you maybe do me a favor? I need some water for our guest.”

Thankfully, Agnes understood without another word of explanation. “Should it be hot or cold?”

Was the only question she uttered while trailing after your quick steps down the hallway.

You shrugged. “Lukewarm is enough for him. Grab me two buckets, I will get a basin for him to stand in.”

Silently and without needing further communication, you two set off to prepare a standing shower for Thorfinn. You had to be careful with his wound and Thorfinn was strong enough to walk around if he wanted to, so you had to do some heavy lifting and shower him manually.

When you entered your quarters with all the needed equipment, Thorfinn seemed to be accepting of his fate. Only when you threw a thinned, faded out cloth into his face, he started to sputter.

“Don’t complain. Just undress and put that on, will you?”

After a few moments of struggle, Thorfinn managed to pull the small towel off his face. He held it up with the very tips of his fingers, like the soft fabric could bite him. First, he stared at the cloth, eyebrows furrowed and drawn together in an expression of absolute horror and disgust. Then, he turned his head to look at you, the exact same expression on his face.

He cleared his throat. “I won’t be naked in front of you, priestess.”

“Wait, now you’re respecting my position? What are you, a prude? After all the hassle and struggle you put up, this is where you draw the line?” Exasperated, you placed your hands in the crook of your hips. “You have gutted your enemies, killed them ruthlessly, probably laid with hundreds of people, willing or unwilling, and you’re ashamed of standing in front of me with a towel protecting your decency?”

His huff only fueled your disbelief. “I have no interest in such a thing as rape. I live for one thing only and that is meant for me to know and you to never assume.”

“Well, it’s either wearing the towel now and getting your pants wet, thus wearing the towel afterwards until your pants are dry or standing naked in front of me while I shower you, if you don’t want to wear the towel now, that is.”

Another scowl and low mumble under his breath, but at least he seemed convinced that wearing the towel now to protect his modesty from your oh-so-pure eyes was the best option. Without a word, you turned around and gave him the needed privacy to shimmy out of his pants.

A knock resounded through the room. Quickly, you walked into the other room to open the door. Agnes stood there with the promised buckets of water, both filled to the brim. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, but she beamed full of uncontested pride at you.

“Good job,” you whispered to her as you took the buckets from her hands, “tomorrow I will talk to Priestess Amaya so you can get a little extra beer in the evening. Your help is appreciated.”

Agnes nodded. “It was merely my duty, head priestess.”

After bidding her good night, you carried the buckets into the study. Finally, Thorfinn shed the rest of his soiled, bloody clothing. With his back turned to you, he was trying to retie the knot around his waist holding the towel up. A glorious sight. You could watch how the defined muscles in his back rippled with each and every movement, tanned skin brightening his hair and bringing memories of golden wheat fields.

Again, you had to admit that Thorfinn was rather easy on the eyes. If not for his prickly personality and guarded, distrusting stance for the entire world, he would’ve had all the priestess’ inside the temple wrapped around his little finger.

With a determined shake of your head, you took the last steps towards the man, who barely turned his head over the shoulder to acknowledge your presence.

“Alright,” you gestured towards the basin, “get in there. And don’t squirm too much, I don’t want to accidentally open the wound again.”

Thankfully, after Thorfinn stopped complaining and wiggling around, showering him turned out to be not as bad as you expected. He was short, hardly an inch or two taller than you, so you didn’t have to lift your cups of water too high. Sure, the water turned dirtier and dirtier with every wash and you had to carefully comb through his hair a lot to avoid hurting Thorfinn accidentally, and the wound could only be gently touched and washed, but at least the intense smell of old cheese and sweat vanished.

It also was nice to be able to touch Thorfinn’s skin. Little brushes of your fingertips, nothing more, but it was more than you ever had, so the little shudders of excitement wandered down your back at the feeling of the softness sculpted across hard muscles. You would never get anything more than that, and you wanted to relish in these little touches as much as you could.

“Enjoying yourself, I see.” Thorfinn did the bare minimum in washing himself, but his eyes were closed as he spoke. Your face instantly went red, but before you could back up or even apologize, he continued, voice low and just throaty enough to make your knees weak. “Oh, you may continue. I just see a pattern.”

“A pattern?” you echoed. “Where do you see a pattern?”

“Well, first you peek at me, you snoop around the main temple and spy on the priests, you can’t resist the urge to get me naked… There’s lots of evidence there. You want to get to the bottom of things, know the truth and reality for yourself.”

Oh. Well, if he wants to talk about that…

There was a reason Thorfinn mentioned the incident back at the main temple. It was never about you peeking at him, no. He wanted to talk about it, wanted to find out more and get to the bottom of things himself. More namely, about the things he already found out but couldn’t quite connect to your person specifically. They probably gnawed at his mind since the moment he found out that particular detail and ran back to your temple.

The thing was, he was just more obsessed with the truth at this point than you were in general. He needed to know for his own good what was going on behind the scenes. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night nor were you going to stand cleaning up his messes he left in his investigating wake. You could see the desire burning in his eyes, restless and weary, yet wide awake and staring intensely at every little motion of your body. Thorfinn was analyzing you as you stood there, in this very moment, trying to gauge your reaction and if he had to push you further for you to crack.

Screw it. You wouldn’t play this stupid game any longer. You’ll place all your cards on the table and Thorfinn could do what he wanted with them for whatever reasons he had. No more lies, no more blankets covering everything up. 

You had just been in the movement of hoisting up another bucket of water, but instead of pouring it again over his body, you stopped, paused and placed the rim of the bucket in the crook of your hip. “Alright, I will answer your questions. What do you want to know? Because I’m in an exceptionally good mood today as the stale scent of moldy cheese is finally gone from my study.”

Gently, you raised the bucket and poured the water once more over Thorfinn. In tantalizing rivulets, the water ran down his torso. Every valley of muscle a little pause in the slow downpour, every soft touch of your fingertips against his upper arms a soft caress. You were teasing him and were rewarded with a little shudder of his entire body. A disgruntled glare was thrown your way, but you merely smiled and finished pouring the bucket. “There’s not much to tell, to be completely honest with you. Especially because you already know a lot about me…”

“Yes.” Another, noticeably softer glare was thrown your way. “However, I want to hear it from you. All the priests do is lie.”

“Oh, how right you are with that.” You clicked your tongue. “The priests at the main church are all only interested in the money and prestige, and if they can buy the latter with the former. They are not true men of faith. They use their authority and connection to the gods to gain more influence instead of helping and guiding the community which made them strong in the first place.”

“I noticed.”

“Did you see children there? Young priests and priestesses?”

“Indeed.”

Dark pictures of these dark, dark times rose inside your mind. This time, you allowed them. They filled your head; filled your head and heart and soul with the memories and the taste of underlying past fear. Your tongue tasted like ash when you spoke up again, clenching your trembling fingers tighter around the rim of the wooden bucket. “They take in orphans. Take them in and work them near death. Then, when they have proven their worth, they are allowed to call themselves apprentices. The new title doesn’t mean they’re treated better, though. The priests… they… Some call themselves mentors, but they’re not mentoring.” A shake of your head. “They’re looking for potential.”

Thorfinn didn’t move a single muscle as you kneeled again to gather another round of water. You took your time, refilled the bucket as you tried to formulate your next sentence which would hopefully convey how much you still feared the priests and their influence. Then, when you moved again to stand, he coughed weakly.

“Potential, as in talent. A talent like…”

You smiled dryly. “Like mine. Yes. A talent, indeed. Speaking with the dead combined with religion. What a good way to earn more money, more respect, more influence. When they found out why I was apparently talking to myself all the time… My mentor, Collum, nurtured me. At least, that’s what he told me. Instead, he started to push me further into the darkness. Quite literally.”

Weeks and months, maybe, spent inside a room without light and sound. You could only hear your own heartbeat, your own crying and screams for help. The only living sounds, as the ghosts continued to whisper no matter how much you begged them to stop. A child, left alone to converse with the dead. You still feared the darkness to this day.

Thorfinn kept silent, so you poured the next bucket of water over his shoulders. By now, the tedious task was merely happening to fill the void between the words as you went back to those dark days.

“I had to speak to them. Find lost things, gather information, make sense of their whispering, find a certain ghost so people could say their last goodbyes. Day in and out. Collum got all the praise, while I was left to rot. He received the money for the duties I performed for the people, and wasn’t above living in luxury while I slept in the same dark room he deemed suitable for my education. …All the priests profited from my presence, to be exact. When Collum wasn’t in the mood to get up in the morning, or couldn’t bother detaching himself from the next best dirty prostitute he picked up the evening before, he ordered another priest to take over. Soon enough, I was handed around like a goose laying golden eggs.”

You remembered the greed—shining in the eyes of every priest you met, painting their expressions one of hunger even though they would be stuffed with the finest food they could get their hands on. All the greed and the lies they would tell the people coming to the temple, people who wanted to speak one last time with a lost loved one, but couldn’t afford it. Goddess, the cruelty of it all.

“There were so many…” you whispered with a raw burning in your throat, “so many people suffering. So many disputes over heritage, so many people who wanted to say goodbye one last time, who wanted closure… turned away because they didn’t have the money. My services were for the rich and rich only, anyone else could fuck right off and crawl away in their own despair. Meanwhile, I spoke to the ghosts about the trivialities and worries only rich people could have. If they would keep their wealth, where the last secret stash of money of their long-dead grandmother was, the expensive family heirloom which was secretly sold by their shitty nephew. Always, always, always money. It sickened me to the very core, still sickens me to even think back and know I had a hand in it.”

“You were a child.”

“A child who knew way too much thanks to the ghosts she was talking to. I knew what was going on, but needed way too long to connect the threads.” You shook your head. Finally, you placed the bucket on the ground and turned away, arms crossed over your chest and now hiding your trembling fingers in the crook of your arms. Despite his silent protest, Thorfinn’s presence was like a carpet of ants laying right on top of your skin. Crawling, tingling, making you sick to the very core. You had no idea why you were even revealing all of this to him, but it felt right. Right to finally talk about it, right to tell him out of all people, right to continue in a shattered, broken husk of a voice, betraying how much you still were affected by your doings and the obvious wrongdoings of the priests so many years ago.

“I knew it was wrong, yet didn’t find the courage to step up. I suffered silently, with only the ghosts as company, knowing what I did was wrong. To deny my talents to the lesser fortunate while the rich and powerful were feasting upon it like fat little piglets at their mother’s tits… until the day…”

Until the day you snapped.

Until the day you realized how powerful you are.

Until the day you knew you couldn’t live among people.

The ghosts whispered. Always, always whispering. The headache forming in your head was relentless, but you kept on pushing, even though remembering hurt, hurt, hurt. “Collum punished me. I didn’t tell the client what he wanted to hear. I told him the truth, that his wife was stealing from him and that she could flee the country from him. Him and his perverted wishes. He shut me into the dreaded room again, told me I had to hang on for three days and nights without food and water. I cried. I begged him to let me out, that I would never do it again, that I would follow his wishes. He just… left. Left me there to rot.”

“And then?” Thorfinn asked.

“I walked through the walls. Or, to be more precise, the ghosts made me... I don’t know how or why. Making me one of their own for a few precious minutes… They never acted through me again. A once in a lifetime chance to escape, and I took it, but not without taking some things from them.” You turned to Thorfinn, clicking your tongue when you noticed he was still standing in the small basin, the water cooling down quickly. “You should get out of there. Catching a cold in your state would mean your death.”

He did so, and for once his face wasn’t pulled into a perpetual grimace of frowns and distaste. No, his eyes were intently set on you, assessing you anew from the top of your head to your very toes, like he saw you in a whole new light and the thought made you light up like the evening sun. “I think you know the rest. At least, the things they told you.”

“That you stole secrets from the temple and used them to bewitch innocent people. Turning them against the priests and main temple. That you follow a deity who was punished for her crimes against the other gods centuries ago and slowly returns to take revenge.”

You couldn’t help yourself. A little snort escaped your lips when you saw the little twinkle of mischief in Thorfinn’s eyes. “They said that? Gods and goddesses, they are even more desperate than I thought. No, nothing of that. It’s true that Freya was long displaced as a goddess for the weak, but not because she committed any crimes against the other gods. The priests at the main temple tried to erase her, supporters of her husband Odin and the concepts of Valhalla and Ragnarok, but many still believe in her. Maybe because they feared she would indeed come back to punish them, for their greed and lies they told to the ones less fortunate. Who knows? I hear they are beginning to follow more Christian ideas as of late. More money in it, I suppose. I’m just glad there are still people left who know enough to come here.”

“Are there?”

“Just enough. And just the right people.”

“What kind of people?”

“Trustworthy ones.”

“And what am I?”

That was the true question here. What was Thorfinn, in this whirlwind of dark past and seals you built around this place to protect you from the priests? There was no doubt in your mind when you spoke up again, chin raised and eyes clear when you spoke only the truth that mattered. “You were the one who needed help. That—is enough for me.”

And for the very first time, you saw something in Thorfinn’s eyes you couldn’t name. Something incredibly bright, incredibly disturbing, and incredibly arousing; to the point you rejected it and turned away, left Thorfinn alone in the study with a quickly beating heart and blood rising to your face.

* * *

Something changed over the course of the weeks following the talk about your past and you didn’t know what exactly. The fact was, Thorfinn acted differently nowadays and it started to grate on your nerves. He was… 

Friendly wasn’t the right word; accommodating also didn’t quite fit it either. He was still the same, but his edge was softer, and his barks and bites had lost their strength; there was nothing behind them but the need to hold up his various masks, but you noticed the difference. You noticed how his ochre eyes always seemed to follow you everywhere. Oh yes, now that Thorfinn apparently was more mobile, he tended to trail after you every time the prayers and other non-confidential or priestess-only temple duties were finished. No matter where you went, Thorfinn was right in your shadow. 

At first, the people eyed him warily, as they couldn’t possibly know what the obviously strong, non-religious man was doing in the church (Thorfinn still wasn’t able to keep himself from showing his oh-so-painfully-obvious distaste for the prayers and words you gifted the visitors), but soon enough, they ignored him and Thorfinn kept on tagging along. So, to them, it must mean he was trustworthy.

Not only that, though. Thorfinn was… softer. Compliant. He drank and ate whatever was placed in front of him. If you tried to get him to bathe, he would put up a fight for a few seconds before eventually giving in and letting you brush his hair, much to his chagrin. He even washed his blood-smeared clothes once you dropped them in front of him, though he seemed to prefer the beige tunic reserved for rare guests.

And he talked. Not much, of course. But sometimes, Thorfinn would ask a question about that day’s visitors or about the prayers, or what you meant with this and that. The talks resulting from these questions were often long and drawn out, and you couldn’t deny that you did enjoy his curiosity. He was like a child, had interesting insights and even challenged you head-on without any regard for your feelings. He seemed to know little about the world outside of his life as a warrior.

He stopped sneering at the religious visitors. Sure, you still knew he disliked everything surrounding the church, but the visitors didn’t pay that anymore heed. In fact, he was so successful in convincing them that he didn’t mind most of them anymore that he was included into their prayers: praying he would regain his health soon enough, praying for good weather on his inevitable travels, praying for good luck to cross his way. And sometimes, just sometimes, you might’ve seen a little smile tug at the corners of his mouth when Thorfinn listened to these quiet (or not so quiet) prayers, but these motions were always so quick, you swore you imagined them—if not for the expression in his eyes. It was the same expression you knew that was the closest to a hidden smile these belief-bound, good people would get from him.

You liked the way he opened up to the inhabitants of the temple. How he would come along and accompany you throughout the day when he could have wandered off on his own. You liked his presence in your back—warm, sometimes unbearably hot, but always, always safe and secure. You knew out of reasons which were totally beyond you and didn’t dare to question that Thorfinn was safe, just like you knew that sun would follow rain, the flow of the different seasons, and that your goddess would always watch over you. 

You knew Thorfinn was safe with the same steadfast belief which had carried you through most of your life, and in your weaker moments, this belief in him—and the knowledge there could be more—scared you shitless.

Just like today. Outside, the snow was falling, which was rare this late into spring. Most of the surrounding local villagers had found a warm haven in the temple; soup was provided, just as much as conversation and emotional support. Animals had also been brought inside, cattle and goats that would’ve been lost in the snowstorm. To say it was a colorful mix of different scents, noises and voices would be an understatement.

You were in the middle of serving soup to the oldest married couple when Thorfinn joined the fun.

“Oh, good.” You straightened your back and turned towards him while the old couple giggled amongst themselves. “You’re here. Would you be so kind to look after the cows for a bit? They seem a bit nervous to me.”

Thorfinn snorted, but didn’t complain about the task. In your back, you were aware how his steps retreated and as you faced the married couple, they looked at you with knowing smiles on both of their faces.

Playing along, you placed your hands in the crook of your hips. “Alright, what’s so funny, my dear elders?”

The man on the right wearing gloves chuckled once more. “Oh, we’re seeing clear. But we don’t know…”

“...if you’re seeing clear, head priestess,” the woman added. Again, they looked at each other and broke into a knowing giggle, which would’ve infuriated you if it wasn’t for their obvious love and support for each other. While they sat together, the woman would always touch her husband in some innocent way. They were always connected, in some way or another, without being obnoxious about it.

In short, they were too cute to be angry at them.

“Your guest likes you,” the man said while his head wiggled from side to side, which made his partner bark out a throaty laugh, “but he doesn’t act on his feelings.”

“That is, to be nice about it, complete nonsense,” you chided.

“Oh, believe us. He wants you, sees you in a way only a lover looks at their subject of desire. We know this and thought you could maybe use that information… accordingly.”

“Accordingly. I liked how you said that.”

“You always liked how I say things.”

“Love. I love how you say things.”

The old married couple were again in their own little bubble of teasing remarks and noisy comments and ignored you, so you merely shook your head with a little grin on your lips and stepped away from them. However, the little revelation they deemed so important gnawed at your mind. There was no way Thorfinn liked you. No way.

Wait, why is that even so important?

It’s not. It’s not important.

It is, though. His feelings are.

But why?

Because…

Freya, you liked him as well. A blush rose into your face. Quickly, you slapped your hands over your cheeks and hid in the shadows, praying no one noticed your strange behavior. A stupid moment to have an absolutely stupid revelation. You looked over your shoulder towards Thorfinn who was about to warily touch a cow on her forehead, probably for the very first time. The cow didn’t react at all to his fingers caressing the small white spot between her eyes, just continued to eat her dried grass like the wind outside weren’t howling like a group of wolves on the hunt.

Goddess, he was looking cute. You stared at him some more; at how he enjoyed the touch, smiled to himself, only to take a little step back when another priestess responsible for the cattle walked past him, and as soon as she was gone, his hand was back on the cow, touching the long fuzzy fur everywhere he could.

Truly ridiculous. And yet so cute. Cute and… likable.

Not him. You didn’t like him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t like Thorfinn. He was only a responsibility and had to go as soon as he was fine. 

But he wasn’t fine now and until that moment, you couldn’t show any of these surfacing emotions to anyone. Lies, lies, lies. Lies everywhere when you had sworn to never tell another lie in your life.

Thorfinn forced you to make exceptions, and you disliked the very taste of that admission on your tongue so very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if there is anything out of place so far, and I'll see y'all next time :)


	4. Chapter 4

From that moment of emotional awareness onward, you lived with the anxiety of being discovered. What if someone else found out what you were feeling? What would they say? This acknowledgment was constantly battling with the absolute denial of your emotions. It couldn’t be true that you harbored feelings for Thorfinn. You couldn’t—you were the head priestess. Nothing was going on between the two of you, there couldn’t be. This resulted in some nervous ticks like gnawing at your fingernails, tapping your feet or clicking your tongue whenever something particularly annoyed you, more headaches, and an overall snappy mood.

It also didn’t help that the ghosts were even more active than normal. Every morning, you were awoken by a ghostly cold touch to your face, and surrounded all day by their insistent presence and cryptid warnings of betrayal, hurtful love and death.

Needless to say, Thorfinn noticed. He didn’t try to talk to you, and he also didn’t go out of his way. A mysterious cold drink, discreetly placed on your study desk here and there, and him turning onto his side whenever you wanted to thank him. Some quiet humming, low and throaty, of songs from his childhood no doubt, in an attempt to soothe your headaches with a little tune, although he’d never admit it. 

It didn’t help your anxiety and denial at all, but swayed your opinion about Thorfinn even more in his favor.

Agnes noticed too, but wasn’t as discreet in her approach to the entire ordeal. Another week passed by before she dared to speak to you, but in the middle of a private prayer she leaned in to whisper softly into your ear.

“The man… the viking,” she hissed through her teeth, “what is he still doing here?”

“He’s recovering,” you mumbled back, throwing apologetic glances to the priestesses close by, “he’s still injured.”

“He has been here for ages. His wounds are closed. He has to go.”

“He is still unwell. He is in pain.”

“He isn’t. He hasn’t been in weeks and you know it. So, why is he still here?”

Was he? Was he really well? You hadn’t checked his wound, so you relied on Thorfinn to tell you if something was seriously wrong. No fever as far as you could tell, no more bloody furs and no complaints about pain (the minimal signs which he allowed to show).

“He isn’t,” you insisted, “and he stays for as long as he needs to.”

Surprisingly, Agnes still wasn’t done. “But he shouldn’t be here. I’m just warning you, head priestess, this man wants something and he’s well enough to hide his intentions behind… behind lust and temptation and false promises and you shouldn’t fall for it!”

“I won’t, and there’s no lust and temptation or false promises whatsoever involved.”

“Head priestess, I—!”

“Enough!”

Your hiss disturbed the others. Several heads rose from their prayers but with a silent hand gesture of yours, they lowered themselves again. However, you knew your community and the people. They were all listening in, hoping to hear a snippet of some scandalous rumor that would explain their usually composed head priestess disturbing the private prayers of her coven.

“Enough,” you repeated, weaker and with a finality which made Agnes avert her eyes as you glared at her, “you may know my intentions with your future, but that doesn’t mean you can decide what I will do now. Wait for your time. Then, and only then, you may decide who is allowed to stay in my church.”

Thankfully, Agnes didn’t challenge you on that. She lowered her own head in prayer, but you realized that there was some truth to her words. Indeed, when Thorfinn recovered enough to leave on his own, then he had to go.

If not… then he had to state his intentions, say the truth, and this time he couldn’t just show up on your doorstep, bleeding out and sinking into your arms like some kind of damsel in distress. No, he had to step up to the plate and tell you right then and there what his intentions were—and based on that, you would decide if Thorfinn was worth allowing to stay.

It was evening when you met him again inside your quarters. He was sitting by the desk in your study. His head instantly flew up from the scroll he scribbled on. The feather he used to write was dropped onto a waiting scrap paper, as you taught him. Apparently he had little to no experience with reading and writing, which you supposed shouldn’t surprise you; he was a raider, afterall. They had little need for literature. 

It was something to keep him busy, however, since he had eventually stopped scrambling through your belongings during your absence.

Thorfinn moved half out of the chair before you even made one step into the room. 

“Hello.” No smirk. No frown. No smug smiles. His face was impassive as ever. He cocked his head to the side, a few honeyed-blond strands falling in around his face. 

Gods, you wished you could just sink your hands into these strands. Comb through them to feel if they were just as soft as they looked.

No! Concentrate! His intentions!

“Hello there,” you mumbled back as you closed the door behind you. A little pause grew as he waited for you to say more and you tried to find the words without destroying the vague balance of peace and hesitant understanding you developed over the last weeks.

“What is it?” he finally said, “I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you’re coming up with.”

You shook your head, only to nod weakly. “Yes, there’s something going on, but I feel it would be… inappropriate to ask right now, depending on… a few qualifying attributes. Say, how is your wound doing?”

Thorfinn’s eyebrows rose, but without further protest, he curled his fingers into the hem of his shirt and tugged it upwards; barely enough to show off his muscular midriff, and just enough to inspect the crudely stitched-together wound. Well, former wound. There was no more blood or redness shown, no pus or other fluids leaking out. Your eyes locked with Thorfinn’s own and you stepped closer. Your fingertips inched over his skin, over the little hill at his side, testing out if there was any heat or unusual hardness, but there was nothing, not even a little flinch of his expression as you pressed harder.

“You’re healthy enough to leave. Did you want to tell me at some point?”

“Not necessarily,” he admitted.

You rolled your eyes. “See, that is the inherent problem here. One of my priestesses mentioned that you are healthy, and I denied that possibility because I trusted you. I thought I could trust you to tell me that you’re good to go, but no, I was wrong when it comes to you. Like always.”

Storm clouds brewed behind his eyes. Yours bore into his, and you could see every little reaction inside of them. The unnamed emotion was back, mixed with… regret? Queasiness grew in your stomach and spread into your chest like a goddamn fungus. You couldn’t stand to look into his eyes, not like this, not with these… emotions perched obvious in his face.

With a sigh, you turned away. “I can’t do this. Not like this. If you don’t want to tell me what your intentions are, then you have to go. One last time, Thorfinn, and this time, you better speak up. What are your intentions in my church?”

Another glance over your shoulder. Thorfinn didn’t seem to be worried. No flinch, no twitch, no sign he was bothered by your question. Nothing, not one bit of remorse or worry. Not a single sign he would actually answer your question.

With a shake of your head, you took another step away. “Fine. Please, pack your stuff up. You will leave tomorrow morning, and don’t force my hand in this issue. It will not be pretty.”

Bitter disappointment spread on your tongue. In some silly part of your mind, you had hoped… hoped that Thorfinn would open up. Just the tiniest bit. After all the time spent together and the little signs of opening up to the followers, to you…

You had hoped. And again, these hopes were dearly misplaced.

Your hands were already on the door handle, when Thorfinn’s voice made you pause. His tone was urgent, low yet unbothered. But his words. Oh, his words.

“My father. I came here for my father.”

“What?”

“Well, I actually came here because Askeladd promised to let me end things once and for all if I could take your head, but you were smart. Always so damn smart.” Irritated, Thorfinn scoffed, but there was something darker lying underneath, especially when he spat out the name ‘Askeladd.’ That ‘something’ sent another cold shudder down your back. Without a doubt, Thorfinn was still dangerous. Still dangerous and angry he could not ‘end things once and for all.’ A lethal combination.

You had no idea what he meant by that and chose to remain silent.

“For all my life, I’ve sought revenge against Askeladd for the death of my father. My father was a great man, greater than any other in this goddamn world. I needed to know...I had to know if I could see him one more time. And then I could finally ask him why—.” He cut himself off, his bangs shielding his eyes from your view. His fists curled and uncurled themselves, and he battled with his inner consciousness for a few moments.

“And what did you want to find here? There’s nothing I can do to bring his soul back—!”

“Yes, there is. You’re just unaware of it.” Thorfinn gestured toward a few scrolls, old and partly moldy, and you needed a few seconds to recognize them. “The scrolls you stole from the priests. That’s why Askeladd’s band was sent here, they were willing to pay them a fortune for your death, but the priests would be satisfied with just the retrieval of the scrolls.”

“So you came here…” your voice was but a whisper.

“I tried to make sense of the scrolls myself, but I couldn’t. I need your help to read them. I have to know if what I’m doing is right. I have to speak with my father and only then can I find purpose. I have to.”

“And what happens after? Do...do you take my...h-head with you then?”

“No. Never. There’s more.”

You threw your hands into the air while the raging disbelief cursed through your entire body with the force of a snowstorm. Everything… everything Thorfinn did over the course of the last weeks was to spy on you. To go through your manuscripts and scrolls and other secrets in your study. He betrayed your misplaced trust, just like Agnes predicted.

Goddess, you should’ve listened. Should’ve listened and kept a clear head, routinely checked his wound, instead of looking at his body and his mind and his personality and being blinded by it. Angry tears burned in your eyes, your mouth turning into an ugly snarl, but your voice didn’t betray your anger one bit. Just endless defeat. “I can’t believe it. I seriously can’t believe myself. I should’ve known better than to give you an inkling of a foothold in my church. A pillager, for goddess’s sake. Of course, your desires would be more important than anyone else. I shouldn’t have delusioned myself into thinking you were different. My fault for believing you could change your very nature.”

“And yet, I stayed.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Thorfinn chuckled. “I stayed even though I found the documents a week after you allowed me inside. I stayed when I could have left and had the priests connect me to my father. And yet, I stayed. What does that tell you?”

“What do I know? Maybe because you needed a place to stay to fully recover, maybe because it was convenient for you—!”

“No, definitely not.” He had the audacity to smile the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. “Come on, little priestess. Use that brain of yours. I know you can figure it out.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you want from me nor what your intentions are. The only thing I do know is that you derive me from any kind of information which could be useful for me by hiding them behind cryptid words.”

Thorfinn’s tawny-brown eyes crinkled in his smile. He never smiled like this. Never. “Alright. But just this once I will show you, little priestess.” 

He took a step forward. Out of instinct, you took one backwards. His smile widened as he took another step forward, what prompted you to take another one back. A little dance, forcing you into the closed door. You couldn’t back up anymore, just stared at Thorfinn as he grew closer and closer. So close into your personal space that you breathed him in with every inhale.

“I stayed.” Dimples showed up in his cheeks, his eyes softening and one hand reaching out. His fingers caressed your face, the tips stroking your cheek down to the curve of your jaw a little clumsily. A soft warm line, burning and tingling on your skin like a wildfire. For another second, Thorfinn locked eyes with you. “I stayed because of you.”

Your breath stuttered. For you? But—

“Why?” you asked. “Why did you stay?”

He had the audacity to chuckle. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

Before you could protest, say or do something, anything, Thorfinn leaned in. His lips descended upon yours, insistently pressing against them. Demanding your full attention, prompting you to gasp in shock, and allowing him to step closer. His hands curled around your upper arms, strong and tender all the same. Everything was new. He crushed his mouth upon yours, only to suddenly retreat completely. Cooler air dried your lips. Your head spun. His body was too close. 

So many emotions and feelings at once.

“Say something,” his whisper caressed your lips just like his mouth did merely a few seconds ago, “anything, but I’ll kiss you again.”

He wanted to hear something from you. Just something, not something special.

Warmth curled in your stomach and chest as you looked straight into his eyes without fear, anxiety or doubts on your mind. “Okay.”

His feral grin and cherry red cheeks were answer enough. When he leaned in and his lips laid upon yours once more, you happily surrendered to him; to him and the raw feeling of being wanted. Blissful temptation made your toes curl and your fingers claw into the sleeves of his clothing as your eyes fluttered shut. The incessant mumbling of the ghosts was pushed into the background, no longer making your head ache and filling your mind. For once, your emotions were calm and quiet. No damned confusion, no more questions. It felt good. Scratch that, it felt fantastic. Thorfinn clearly had no idea what he was doing, but it allowed you to catch a glimpse of the life you never had the chance to live and never wanted to.

Before. Before this, before now.

A low moan escaped your mouth as you leaned forward. For the first time, you pushed back, moved and reacted. Into Thorfinn’s body, your chest touching his as you arched into him. More heat curled in your lower stomach, spread and pulsed to the beat of your heart. Nothing else but Thorfinn mattered. He filled up every inch of your mind as you breathed him in with every inhale and relished in the smell of his own personal scent.

His hands wandered; over your shoulders and down your arms. Every fingertip a little caress—every caress was a firework of sparkles and new emotions you never experienced before—that moved down to your hands, lacing his fingers between yours. Tugging you closer, his palm pressed against yours in a sweet, tender gesture of unity as he held your hand.

Just a few more moments. A little indulgence…

No indulgence. This is serious.

I want this. I want him. I want him forever.

Instantly, you froze up. No, were you really…?

Before the thought even finished, you wiggled out of Thorfinn’s arms and turned away. Your lips were still tingling from his touch and your hands flexed around the phantom image of his hands in yours. Goddess, it was dangerous to think like this. Your place was and always would be here inside this church, while Thorfinn would never tie himself down like that. You were the high priestess; he was a viking. You followed the goddess of love whilst Thorfinn only followed his own laws and rules. You had the burdening weight of the dead to shoulder as your own while he was half eaten up by his hatred. That much you could see.

There was no way these emotions would work out. These feelings brought only grief and pain over something which wasn’t inside your hands all along.

In another life, you two could’ve worked out. But not now, not today, not in this one.

“We can’t,” you said while restraining yourself from showing any kind of emotion, “we can’t do this. This is wrong.”

“I’ve never done anything so 'wrong' before that felt so right.” His lips fell into their signature pout, a stoic frown that looked more like the Thorfinn you knew and not this odd man you had shown weakness and desire for.

“Even when it feels right to you doesn’t make it ‘right’ for me.”

“Why?” One of his hands landed on your shoulder, but you twitched away and the pressure vanished almost instantly. “I—I’ve never felt this happy in my whole life. Why can’t you accept it? You’re feeling the same way, I know this.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Your laugh was bitter as you swiveled around. “Do I have to spell it out for you? We’re too different. Our lives only intertwined because of some crazy accident which should’ve never happened in the first place. Everything we can do is to hurt ourselves while trying to pretend we’re good for each other.”

“And just because the pain seems too great for you, you’re not even willing to try anymore?”

“This isn’t about trying,” you tried to choke out, “or the pain. I can see your hatred for the world as clear as the sun above. You’re lost. Hell, I even know that your father would hate to see you pursuing a life of revenge and butchery. Your hatred for Askeladd is so strong, you won’t and can’t see past it. Anyone would be nothing in the face of that.”

Thorfinn’s face twisted into a sharp grimace. “That’s not true.”

“You’re even denying it. As long as you can’t see that your hatred will not stop even in the next life, I can’t see a future for anyone close to you.”

“But there could be—!”

A burst of anger pulsed through you, so sudden it overwhelmed your mind for a second. “There could! But Thorfinn, now listen carefully here. There can’t be a future for us. Leave me out of this impossible daydream of yours. What do you even expect from this? Some kind of absolution?”

His eyebrows knitted together, easily reverting back to the stone-cold warrior you first encountered in the woods. “It’s not impossible.”

“In this life, there is no chance for us. Can you understand that?” Not waiting for an answer, you turned away from him.

“Why are you so sure of that?” he asked as your hand closed around the door handle. “Why are you so sure we would fail? Did the ghosts tell you that?”

“Yes.” They did now, in this very moment.

_No life with him, no love with him._

_He brings nothing but pain and sorrow. Run, run! You can still live._

_You can still love. Love someone else._

_His love will kill you._

_Run._

No, you couldn’t. Suddenly, you realized this with the clarity of a hidden mountain lake. You couldn’t run away from your own feelings, as stupid as they were. Unnoticed, the man had sneaked his way into your heart. How unfair was that?

For the first time in years, you decided that the advice of the ghosts could actually be truly followed for once. You shook your head while you opened the door. “I can’t stay here tonight. I can’t, I simply can’t. Good night, Thorfinn.”

You took a few more steps outside, already pushed the next door open to leave your own room, when his deep voice echoed after you. The words made you tremble out of reasons you didn’t want to think of, at all.

“This isn’t over.”

Without an answer to his threat, you left. There was nothing to say to that delusion of his. Any denial you could give to him would be deflected by his irrational clinging to the fact that you could try to work around it, despite knowing there was only tragedy at the end.

The short-lived period of happiness and bliss would be overshadowed by the sad ending this if-ever-possible relationship you two would take. Nothing would be worth it. Not the hint of passion, not the heat of a forbidden kiss, not the fire burning in your belly or the ache in your heart when you walked down the dark hallway, only to hesitantly knock on Agnes’ door.

When she opened, her hair mussed up and dressed in a thick nightgown, you lowered your head the smallest bit, maybe just to hide the hint of tears burning in the corners of your eyes.

“Please, dear sister. Could I stay the night? I need some space from our guest.”

“Of course.” Agnes didn’t even hesitate, just opened the door wider and allowed you to slip past her.

Just a little bit of silence. A tiny bit of peace, quiet, tranquility. Not an ounce of Thorfinn’s presence. Yes, that would be good for your state of mind.

Maybe you could even forget the quiet longing in your heart that was still persisting against the irredeemable logic and the whispering ghosts who were still talking about betrayal, pain and lurking death.

* * *

You awoke with a sudden jolt. Ghostly screams vibrated in your ears, shrieking and painful. They were not even warnings anymore but straight up telling you about unholy crimes against life itself. Right on your doorstep.

_THEY’RE HERE. THEY’RE HERE FOR YOU._

_THEY’RE KILLING THEM._

_DEATH, DEATH, SO MUCH DEATH._

Your vision blurred as you scrambled to get up. It took valuable seconds to set your feet onto the ground, even more to stand up straight and not fall over. Every bone in your body seemed to hurt as you stumbled towards the next window and looked outside, straining your eyes to see the danger the ghosts meant.

The priests weren’t to be overlooked. Their russet brown robes were eyesores against the pure-white snow as they stood there with crossed arms. Mere onlookers to the demise they brought with them.

“Fucking pillagers,” you growled as you watched some shadows run away from the nearest little wooden house. Like they fled from something, but there was no way they would flee from one of the old farmers up here—!

Suddenly, the wooden house was engulfed by a storm of fire. The entire church shook with the force. Glass broke right into your face. Shards cut your cheeks as you stumbled backwards, tears welling up and a scream of pure utter terror ringing through the air.

No. NO! Not the houses, not the innocent farmers! They had nothing to do with this, why were they going after them and not only you!?

Hired vikings, maybe even Askeladd’s men. The priests. Farmers dying, oh goddess. Your worst nightmares were coming alive tonight. And all of that for you. For you and this stupid gift you never wanted.

Your ears were still ringing from the blast as you tried to scramble to your knees, glass cutting your hands and tears running down your face. The ground seemed to move beneath you, sway from side to side like the sea. Your knees hit the floor several times, each time cutting yourself a bit more before you were able to stand up. Not perfectly straight, not able to take one step forward to help your sisters, help the farmers, help the church, but you stood. Your vision was still swimming, the chimes were still ringing in your ears and even overshadowing the insistent screaming of the ghosts around, you were bleeding out of several little wounds, but you could and absolutely would help.

The door burst open. Your head snapped around, only to spot Thorfinn in the doorframe. He was a truly horrific sight. Blood was smeared across his face and his hands, little blood splatters decorated his clothes and even some strands of his blond hair looked like they were dipped in blood. His hands, holding his daggers in a vice-like grip, clutched the wooden door for a second, only to come barreling over. Before you realized what was happening, his arms were wrapped around you, nearly crushing your bones in the tightest hug you ever experienced.

It took you several moments to really listen to him, but when you did, your insides turned to ice. “You’re alright, thank… When I couldn’t find you… The priests are here. They brought marauders, not Askeladd and the others, but don’t worry. They won’t be a problem for long.”

“My sisters…”

“Some are dead. The plunderers were quick, I have to give them that at least. How did they sneak past the barricade?”

“I don’t know… I—!” you stuttered, breathed in, tried again. “They need my permission or the permission of one of my sisters to enter. I was sleeping here, I couldn’t—!”

“And you wouldn’t.” Thorfinn scowled, his face so close to yours you couldn’t help but remember last night, despite the dire situation. “You never would’ve invited the priests up here. Leaves only one of your priestesses to let them in.”

One of your own. Betrayal. Understanding dawned only slowly upon you, poison dripping into your mind and tainting every thought. Who would’ve done something this vile, this rotten and despicable to their own family?

There was no way one of your priestesses would’ve done something that cruel. You would vet for them with your very life, if necessary.

“My seals have to be faulty,” you explained, “there has to be… A weakness or just a mere weak spot, and the priests were always pretty crafty when it came to—!”

Thorfinn’s hatred was almost fathomable when he interrupted you with a sharp bark. “Fucking accept you were betrayed! Accept and get over it, because we don’t have time for endless denial! I managed to kill some of them, the way should still be free. Come here.”

You couldn’t even react before Thorfinn started to pull you out of Agnes’s room. Agnes! Right, where was she? She hadn’t been in her rooms, despite her going to bed at the same time as you.

Weakly, you asked Thorfinn, but he continued to ignore you while dragging you down the eerily dark and silent hallways.

When you asked again, he merely snarled at you, his eyes flitting around and always on the look-out for looming danger. “I don’t fucking know! She wasn’t there, maybe already ran away. Worry about yourself for once, will you?”

That shut you up for now. The fact Thorfinn didn’t ease his grip once and even scolded you for worrying about others told more than anything you wanted to know at the moment. The situation was too dire for worry. And after all, the priests were there for you.

The corpse of Priestess Amaya laid in the middle of the next hallway, so close to the entrance and exit that it hurt. Her eyes were empty, hair disheveled and soaking in a puddle of her own blood, her clothes shredded apart and her chest open in a brutal display of cruelty. You were thankful her ghost didn’t appear to be among the screaming crowd around you. Otherwise, you maybe would’ve given in to the tears burning in the corners of your eyes or the desperate, deep sobs living in your chest. One of your own, dead. Murdered.

“Don’t,” Thorfinn warned as he sensed your intentions of sinking to her side and speaking a quick prayer, “we don’t have time. Go on.”

“But her soul—!”

“You can grieve and pray and the fuck later. Now, you need to live.”

Your eyes stayed on Amaya’s lifeless body the entire time Thorfinn dragged you forward, as long as you could, until you turned the next corner and her body was out of your sight. Nevertheless, the image would haunt you for the rest of your life. The guilt; the sheer, raw guilt of knowing you were at fault.

When Thorfinn stepped outside, the cold mountain air cleared your mind momentarily. Only to be overwhelmed by the destruction and violence all around you. High up on the top of the stairs leading up to the ripped-open doors of the church, you could survey the entirety of the chaos the priests and their goons created.

Smoke and ash were filling your lungs. Fires were burning all around, every single small hut lit up in flame. Corpses. Corpses were lying in the melting snow, of people and animals alike, strewn around like broken toys disregarded by a child throwing a temper. More blood soaked the ground, and oh gods and goddesses; the ghosts. All the ghosts were in a frenzy. Pale figures floating all over the place, screeching and screaming so loud you had to cover your ears to even hear your own thoughts. Your greatest nightmare coming to life, right in front of your eyes. Your entire being, your existence, your reason for going on. All of them dead and destroyed, smothered by the wide arm and heavy robes of the priests.

Thorfinn merely gave the carnage another glance before pulling you down the stairs.

“Come,” he growled, barely louder than the crackling of the fire, “don’t stop. Mourn the dead when you’re safe.”

You stumbled down the stairs, choking in horror at the sight of more corpses. More priestesses, more farmers. The old couple, hugging each other even in death and laying right outside their burning house. All these lives lost to greed. All this destruction. How could they…? Were you really that important to them or did they want to punish you for leaving in the first place?

Thorfinn let go of your hand at the bottom of the stairs. It happened so suddenly you gasped, only to watch how a little smile eased his features before dropping into a heavy frown once more. “They’re still busy behind the church. Run into the forest while I deal with the rest of them, I’ll catch up to you.”

“But—!”

“No! Stop arguing! Get out of here alive, you hear me? I will fight whoever comes after you, but run and don’t stop!”

With that, he gave you a little push. Just a mere bump of his palms into your shoulders, but it broke the wall as tears instantly ran down your face. You didn’t know why. Why you cried for him now when so many of your chosen family were dead already. But, maybe that was the point. He was still there, still breathing, still painfully and loudly alive. Your only beacon of hope in this massacre and Thorfinn wanted to stay here and fight off the remains of the priests' pillagers.

You opened your mouth to say something, just anything on your otherwise blank mind, but Thorfinn shouted at you with his teeth bared and eyes set on the shadows moving inside the church and creeping down the stairs. “GO! NOW!”

And so, you ran; your breath catching in your chest as you stumbled forward, your naked feet burning every time you set them into the hard, frozen-over snow. At least one good thing came from the burning houses: the light illuminated the night and your way to safety. Away from your church, away from your home and away from the danger looming in your back.

Only forward.

When you reached the invisible border of the land, the ghosts had stopped screaming into your ears. Your run slowed into a fast walk, only to come to a complete stop right past the border. You couldn’t help it, just a little look over your shoulder to memorize this place, as painful as it might be.

They had set the church on fire. Even from your position, you could faintly hear the roaring of the fire as the flames licked at the walls, climbed up to the roof and engulfed the entire building in a sea of deadly sun and crimson. You could feel your heart beating in your ears as you stood and stared, the beats so loud you missed the first hesitant calling of your title, but you didn’t miss it the second time.

“Head priestess? Head priestess, are you alright?”

Agnes’ voice. Oh Freya, she was alive and well. She emerged from the trees, dressed still in her immaculate robes, her eyes small and suspicious as they flitted around you. At the sight, relief washed through you like an avalanche. At least one made it out. Only one, but better than nothing.

“Oh heavens, you’re alright.” You stumbled toward her and before she could react, you enveloped her in a tight hug. She smelled of fresh air, soap and pine trees, like she had hidden herself away in the woods already for hours. “Thank Freya, you made it out. Did anyone else make it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Did you—!”

“I watched Priestess Amaya die right in front of my eyes.” You loosened the hug to find Agnes avoiding your eyes completely. “I ran after that. Didn’t look back.”

“That’s good. That’s fine. I’m just happy you made it. Come, we need to hide in the forest.”

The safety of the shadows between the trees was so close. Reaching out, you took her hand and stepped toward it, but Agnes resisted. Instead of running, she craned her neck, still searching for someone she obviously couldn’t find. “Is the viking guest with you?”

You shook your head. “He stayed back to fight them off. But he will come after us when he’s finished.”

“So, there’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

The grip of her hand turned painful. When you looked back over your shoulder, there was a strange glint in her eyes. Something terribly familiar, something you didn’t ever intend letting into your church, something you knew all too well from your time with the priests.

Endless greed.

Agnes didn’t even need to say anything. Everything fell into place. Her robes were clean, too clean to have fled through the ash and smoke of the surrounding fires. She didn’t even smell of smoke. She said she saw Priestess Amaya die, but how would she come to that point? Why leave you alone in her room, not waking you up? 

Pain slashed through your body just in the moment your mouth opened. Instead of words, a weak gurgle left your lips as you stared at the dagger stuck in your stomach—the dagger and the hand wrapped around the handle… Agnes’ hand.

Every breath was anguishing, but you forced yourself to speak. “No, no, no… Agnes, you let them in?”

She nodded sharply. “It was a mistake of yours to grant all of us access to the seals. It was never easier to complete a mission like this one.”

“Who… are you?”

“No one. And yet, just like you.”

“The priests.” You didn’t ask questions anymore, just cold clarity settling over your mind. “An orphan.”

“Yes. Sent by our mentor Collum to gain your trust and destroy you when the time was right. If not for this damned man to sneak into my church, we would’ve cleared up everything weeks ago.” Agnes scowled. Her pretty features turned into a mask of sheer disgust, growing sharp and angry in the darkness. “We had to change our plans because of his stupidity, but all is well, I guess. You’re dead, and that’s all that counts.”

“I’m not…”

“You are, you just don’t know it yet. The moment I pull out this dagger, you will bleed out in minutes. It’s time to join the ghosts, priestess.” So much venom in her voice, her motions calm and calculated. Another twist of her wrist caused a shriek to rip itself from your lungs. Your body was on fire; everything burned and pierced and twisted.

_Your judgement was wrong. You let her in._

_Betrayal from one of your own._

_Your blood soaks the ground where you stand, priestess._

_Join us. You will join us._

_What will you do?_

This was the betrayal they meant. This was the lurking death. It was never about Thorfinn betraying you. It was never about the death he would bring onto you. You had interpreted their warning whispers wrongly, trusted wrongly and this time, you would lose it all. 

What do you do? Dark spots flickered in your vision. What should you do? Blood rushed in your ears. What would you do? Your breathing ran ragged, exhausted, slowed down. What could you do?

Nothing. 

But the ghosts could. 

Just in the moment Agnes wanted to pull out with the sadistic joy still burning brightly in her eyes, your fingers tightly curled itself around her wrist.

At first, her smile was cocky as she looked down at your hand. “There’s no use in preventing it. Just let me free you from this suffering. Unfortunately, I can’t promise you a fast and painless death, like I planned. You have to thank yourself for falling in love with that bastard of a viking.”

But then silent like walking death, you tighten your grip. You were relentless—stubborn even when she dug her fingernails into your cold skin, mercilessly prying your fingers off her wrist in angry grunts. You didn’t let go; you didn’t ease your grip. 

“Let go, you stupid—! Ouch, fuck!”

You could feel her bones in your palm, feel them grinding together the tighter your grip became. In the back of your head, you could hear the ghosts howl, feel their coldness running through your veins, and the taste of old blood lying on your tongue. Every sensation zeroed down to that small point of contact. One long moment passed, in which you tried to feel sympathy for her, just for the tiniest bit. For the life she led up to this point. Then, you shattered her wrist with a simple tightening of your grip.

Agnes howled in pain, but you could see the fear reflected in her eyes. The fear of the unknown, as she had never seen you becoming one with the ghosts. Of course not. It had only happened once, the feeling of snow and ice running through your veins, making your body and your mind go numb. Back then, you had been dead-set on escaping your eternal prison. Now, you were dead-set on taking Agnes with you. She may have belonged to your family, but she had betrayed everyone, including yourself. It was a mistake you had to correct. Right here, right now.

Agnes, the traitor. And she would die a traitor’s death. You would make sure of it. 

Everything seemed so far away. Agnes’s bones continued to crumble right beneath your palm as you continued to watch impassively. The ghosts howled in your ears, deafening every other sound as you watched—like a third party—your fingers gliding up to her elbow. More bones snapped in its wake, the incessant cracking right beneath your fingertips. Everywhere you touched, the skin turned a blackish-blue. Every inch was another win for death, and while Agnes continued to struggle, scream and writhe, you simply, silently stared at the physical destruction.

You knew what it was. Death touched Agnes through you, causing her body to rot from the inside. The further you wandered up—your strength aided by the ghosts—the more skin rotted away and the more the traitor struggled. Inch for inch, her skin and flesh were falling away; the rosy, healthy skin tone darkening into blue and black. Her scent changed, the soap and pine trees now decay and fading life. When you looked into her eyes, saw her pleading as she begged for mercy, but—did she give mercy to her dying sisters? To the innocent farmers and animals? Would she have granted any mercy to you if you sensed her intentions?

So, you pressed on, and when your hands touched her face and her teeth fell away, her hair rotted and her eyes shrunk into her eyelids, her horrible screams finally ceased to exist. Just like her soul, which faded in the exact moment your hands reached her chest, stopping her heart when the decay reached its peak. For another few long blinks, you both stayed entangled in each other. A mummy trembling and going slack and a human possessed by ghosts breathing one of her last breaths. Then, the mummy fell apart, her limbs breaking off first, her torso dropping and finally her head rolled away into the darkness.

You, on the other hand, were left by the ghosts. One moment you were standing, feeling ethereal and weightless; the next moment you found yourself laying in the snow, facing the sky above and knowing this would be your end. All alone on the ground, a damned dagger sticking in your stomach and with no one to accompany you as you entered the afterlife. All alone, here in the darkness, having betrayed your family by giving your trust to someone who didn’t deserve it.

All alone. Like always.

Time passed by when death closed in. Darkness surrounded you, only barely illuminated by the bright moon and the stars, the faraway fires and the pale bodies of the ghosts only you could see anyway. The pain Agnes had promised kicked in, waves of sheer agony rolling from your pierced stomach into every nook and cranny of your body. Despite the snow surrounding you, you didn’t feel cold. The coldness helped in fact—in keeping the pain bearable while the snow bit into your exposed skin.

Hours later (or moments? Weeks? Mere seconds?) there were steps crunching on the ground. The sound echoed in your ears, almost painfully so, but the ache in your guts was far greater than the one in your ears.

Who could it be? A priest? A pillager? A survivor of the onslaught? Thorfinn?

Of course, it was Thorfinn. 

There could be no one else here; the only survivor of this massacre, the only one strong enough to survive. When you heard his familiar voice, you closed your eyes for a second, relaxing into the sweet embrace of the cold ground and smiling when you heard his steps hurry over. His words blurred into a roar in the back of your head. In total comparison, his hands were unbearably gentle as they roamed over your shoulders, down to your stomach, hovering there, only to slide up to your face to cup it in a tender embrace.

Like you were under water, you heard his silent whispers, gurgling and way too weak, but you heard them and in your last moments, that would be everything that counted. “…-ess, all of them. Killed all of them. Stay with me here. Fuck! Fuck this life, fuck everyone in this rotten world! Why you, now that I’ve…”

Heat dropped onto your face while his fingers shook. Only slowly, the realization filtered into your fading mind. 

Tears. Warm tears landed on your face. Thorfinn was crying, crying for you. For what could’ve been if you weren’t bleeding out here on the forest floor, only meters away from the destroyed, mangled corpse of the traitor who pushed a blade into your stomach.

That realization alone made you force your eyelids open. Goddess, it was hard; hard and tiring. Hard for reasons you couldn’t entirely name and reasons which weren’t your impending death, but you managed. When your eyes blinked open, you saw the raw pain in Thorfinn’s face; the ache of knowing what was about to come and the knowledge he was powerless to stop it. You had seen the exact same expression way too many times.

“(Y/N).” His lips quirked up into a quick smile while more tears dropped down. “What did you do to me?”

“I don’t know.” The whisper was the greatest effort you ever had to make. “I really don’t know.”

“You killed her. It was the petty priestess, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“Good.” He nodded, his blond strands falling into his eyes. “Good. The others are also dead. No more priests. No more… greed.”

“Good,” you echoed in an almost inaudible whisper, “very good.”

“...Don’t leave me.” This time, you were sure. Thorfinn openly begged you to stay, to not leave him behind. Despite the hatred inside his heart, there seemed to be a tiny corner where your name, along with his father’s and the many others he’s loved, was engraved. Just enough for him to suffer while he held you in his arms.

At the sight, you also could feel the telltale burning in your own eyes. There was no time, no time in this world, no time in this life.

This life.

His soul… His soul will be—!

“Don’t cry for me.” A sudden wave of strength, carried by the urgency of the situation flooded through you. Your hand rose and cupped his tear-stained cheek, your thumb rubbing in soothing little circles over his skin. “We will see each other again. Freya will make sure of it. She will grant me this wish, like she has granted many others their dying wish, as this is the most truthful wish I ever will speak.”

“How?” There was desperate hope in his face. “How will…”

“My soul,” a cough ripped its way out of your lungs, deep and painful, while more blood sputtered out of the wound in your stomach, “I’ll ask her to tie my soul to yours. No matter where you go or how many lives you will lead, I will always find you. No matter what, I will be there. None of us will be alone anymore.”

“No, (Y/N), no, this isn’t—!”

“I don’t have more time,” you interrupted him, smiling while you could feel how even the last warmth of the living left your body, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry.”

Sorry for taking so long to realize what was happening. Sorry for denying your own feelings, even though he was brave enough to step forward and act on his own emotions. Sorry for not knowing how to react yesterday evening.

Sorry for so many things, but most importantly: sorry for not having more time in this life.

"It hurts, Thorfinn."

"Try not to think about it," he hushed, rocking you back and forth in his arms, "I'll take you to Vinland with me."

"What's Vinland?"

"Far, far to the west. Farther than my home, across the ocean, there's a land called Vinland, a warm, fertile paradise, free from slavery and war and greed. We'll go there together. We'll go far from here."

One last time, you tugged his head down to meet your lips, one last time you could indulge yourself in this sweet, sweet heaven.

Thorfinn kissed you back—with the intensity of the sun, with his entire being, body and soul, burning through you and warming you. One very last time, you were able to feel these feelings. His tears were still flowing, mixed with yours as you tasted the blood and salt on his lips. Thorfinn’s dark eyes were the last thing you saw before the eternal darkness overtook your mind, pulling you deeper and higher and out of your body.

The last thing you heard though were the pained whispers of your name. No more ghosts howling, screaming for your attention. No more ethereal messages, no more nightmares.

Finally. Silence. Peace. And soon, you would meet Thorfinn’s soul again.

Soon. In another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it ends as planned. There's a part in the manga when Thorfinn is confronted by the guests in the Farm Arc, and Fox attempts to intimidate him by slicing him up. Thorfinn asks "why do we have to be afraid of death? Are we alive because we don't want to die? Does something good come of living? It hasn't for me. In all the days I've lived...not one good thing has happened." I always liked to imagine that the story of the priestess he loved being one of those 'bad things' that's happened to him. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I did. Leave a review and your thoughts on what you think! What do you think Thorfinn is gonna do now? I like to imagine he'll return to the canon timeline of the story haha. Thank you all so much for reading!


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